Italian Food
by Elphie Marky
Summary: Roger decides to cook dinner for Mark and himself. MarkRoger


Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. ...damn.

Roger stared at the contents strewn on countertop. He had dug deep in the cabinets of the loft, extracting every bit of food he found. Spaghetti, tomato sauce, elbow noodles, spiral noodles, and ravioli among other non-Italian foods were all over. Putting back what was not a box of noodles, Roger turned on a huge pot of water to boil.

He examined the jar of tomato sauce, a grimace twisting on his face. It was odd that only Italian food littered the loft. Roger was only about three percent Italian from his dad's side (not someone he wanted to be associated with) and Mark was about as far from Italian as you could get.

"Whatcha doin'?" an all too cheery voice inquired.

Roger turned around to see his roommate enter. Mark stood in the doorway of the loft, removing his scarf and coat and gently hanging his camera bag on the designated hook.

"Cooking."

"Is the world ending?" Mark joked, receiving an angry glare from Roger.

"You don't have to eat any, I can eat it all myself you know," Roger retorted, putting the sauce back in the cabinet.

"Don't you need that?"

"Nope," Roger said, turning the hot plate up a bit higher. He was impatient about boiling water. "I don't like sauce on my noodles."

Mark blinked. "So you're not making the sauce at all?"

"Get your own fuckin' noodles then," Roger hugged a box protectively.

Mark smiled. "We have more in common than I thought."

"Huh?"

"Cindy used to make fun of me all the time for eating my spaghetti plain," Mark scratched his head. "Call me when it's ready, okay?" Mark headed for his room.

"I never said I was feeding you," Roger replied, but Mark's door had closed before he finished.

Roger smiled when he saw the water at a boil. He dumped the spiral noodles into the pot, followed by the spaghetti, elbow noodles, and ravioli. He stirred it gently, watching the ripples in the water and the various noodles float around. After a few minutes, he decided they were done. Looking over at the sink, Roger saw a large pile of dishes. "Whoops, that was my job, wasn't it…" he mused, recalling how Mark had hounded him to wash the dishes. Rummaging through the cabinets, he found a large plate, a few clean cups, and a fork. Setting them on the table, he carried the pot of pasta and dumped it on the plate.

"MARK!" Roger yelled. "FOOD!"

Mark emerged. "You don't have to be so loud.

"YES I DO!" Roger screamed, just to piss off his roommate.

Mark sat down, observing Roger's home-cooked meal. "There's only one fork."

"We have to share," Roger placed two cups of water on the table.

"Okay," Mark twirled the fork around some spaghetti and shoved it in his mouth. "Mmm."

"I'm an amazing cook, what can I say?" Roger smiled, not waiting for the fork to grab a noodle with his bare hands. "Mmm, for cooking nothing but cereal before, I _am_ a damn good cook."

"Cereal doesn't involve cooking at all," Mark said, abandoning the fork to use his hands.

"Exactly."

The meal went on, both boys abandoning their manners to eat with their hands, chew with their mouths open, and discuss things that shouldn't be talked about, let alone during dinner.

With only a little bit left, a spark lit up in Roger's eyes. "I bet I can eat the more of what's left than you can," he challenged.

Mark smiled. "No hands."

"One, two, three."

Both boys dove at the plate, their hands gripping the table as they fought each other for the remaining noodles. Their mouths found the same spaghetti, sucking it their ways and stretching it into a line. Their eyes met as they moved closer, hoping to bite the piece before the other got it. Before Roger could sink his teeth into the pasta, Mark had closed the gap. In an accidental rush, Roger leaned forward too far, his lips colliding with Mark's. Neither of them pulled away, unsure of what to do. Roger swallowed what was in his mouth and leaned further into Mark. Mark did the same and used his hands to get a good grip on Roger's thick hair. Roger's hand found a place on Mark's collar as he yanked him up to the table. Mark didn't notice his knee in the plate of remaining noodles, just Roger's tongue finding an entry way into his mouth.

"Mmm," Roger let go of his friend and stepped back. "Your knee."

Mark looked down to see his knee in the spaghetti plate. He lifted it out and grimaced at the wet stain. "I'll go change."

"I'll clean up."

It was awkward. Roger nervously added the plate and cups to the large pile already there. The dish clamored as Mark returned, decked out in clean pants.

"Rog?"

"Yeah?" his voice went strangely high and his face reddened. He was surprised that Mark wasn't weirded out by what happened. "I mean, what?"

"I was going to walk to Blockbuster," Mark replied, smiling. "Want to come?"

"What for?" Roger crossed his arms, a curious look dancing in his eyes.

"I have the sudden urge to watch Lady and the Tramp."

Roger just laughed.

**Fin**


End file.
